


Christmas on the Island

by Killbothtwins



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Christmas, Everything is happy and only some things hurt, Families of Choice, The island - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killbothtwins/pseuds/Killbothtwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The island wasn't all bad. Just mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas on the Island

Oliver had once told Digg that there were no holidays on the island. No Christmas. 

 

He'd also told Felicity and Digg that the island was just 5 years where nothing good happened. Nothing at all.

 

That wasn't exactly true. There was just none that it didn't hurt to remember. That didn't remind him of all the people he had lost. 

  
  


 

* * *

  
"Hey, I think it might be Christmas." 

Oliver announced suddenly, squinting up at the sky contemplatively.

 

"What?" 

Slade asked, pausing in sharpening a particularly dull knife. 

 

"It's Christmas, I think, or at least close to it. I mean, it was kind of around the holidays when I left, so it might be Christmas by now."

Oliver said, ignoring the pang he felt when he mentioned home.

 

"You're thinking about Christmas  now ?"

Shado asked incredulously. 

 

Oliver shrugged.

"Why not? It might be our last, for all we know."

It was a joke, sort of, but true all the same. 

 

"You're insane, kid."

Slade remarked, turning back to his weapons.

 

"It's a little hot for Christmas, don't you think?"

Shado asked, shading her eyes with her hand to look up at the sun through the tops of the trees. 

 

It was unusually hot for that time of year, at least compared to what Oliver was used to. Even the weather hated that island, he guessed. They were all sitting outside their old airplane, taking a rare break from the mayhem that seemed to infest every corner of Lian Yu.

 

"So we wait until the first day it gets cold. Gives us time to get presents for each other anyways."

Oliver said

 

This redrew Slade's attention to the conversation. 

"So we're getting presents now, are we?"

 

Oliver grinned, a hint of the carefree rich kid he used to be. 

"Yep. So you better prepare. You too."

He pointed to each of them in succession as he spoke.

 

Slade rolled his eyes.

"Yeah right."

 

Shado glared at him.

"I think it's sweet."

 

Slade set his knife down.

"Only because you're a gir-"

He wisely cut off halfway through his last word, catching the death glare the woman was giving him. He tried to maintain his gruff look while also looking contrite.

 

"Just for that, we're doing Christmas. Wipe that smirk off your face, Queen." 

Shado ordered.

 

Oliver immediately did as commanded, schooling his expression impressively into a frown that looked remarkably like Slade's.

 

When she glanced away, however, he smiled dopily at Slade, giving an unnecessary thumbs up. He turned his expression neutral again and dropped his hands as soon as Shado turned back around to look at him. 

 

Slade huffed. Whatever. Kid'd probably forget all about it before the temperature ever dropped anyways.

 

 

* * *

About five near-death misses and three explosions later, Slade was catching up on his sleep, huddled under a stolen sleeping bag. He instinctively turned his face away from the cold, pulling the covers tighter. He froze. If it was cold, then that meant...

 

"Merry Christmas, Slade!"

The mercenary's eyes were startled open and greeted with the sight of Oliver Queen's grinning face two inches away from his own. It took all he had in him to not stab the other man in the neck. 

 

Unaware of his close call with death, Oliver continued to grin.

"Present time!"

 

Slade groaned loudly. He decided to take the fact that Oliver had somehow woken up before him and was able to move around without disturbing his rest as a sign that the kid was improving. Not an error on Slade's own part. Of course. 

 

The kid was still smiling like a fool. Damn it, if he kept this up, Slade might actually be  sad  when the kid met his inevitable death. Slade was getting soft. 

 

So he grumbled and pulled himself reluctantly to his feet, muttering threats that seemed to go unheard by the plane's other two occupants. 

 

What he saw when all the fuzziness of sleep was rubbed from his eyes almost made him smile.  Almost.  He wasn't that soft yet. 

 

While he had slept, Oliver, with the help of Shado, Slade suspected, had strung up strings of random vines over the walls of the plane, loosely resembling Christmas lights. A small sapling had been dragged into the corner, leaving a trail of half swept away dirt in its wake. It was decorated with little colored rocks and empty bullet casings serving as ornaments.

 

Hmmph. Probably had termites or something. 

 

"For you."

Oliver said, shoving something into Slade's hands. He looked down at it. 

 

Whatever it was was covered with one of the black ski mask their enemy was so fond of wearing, tied at the top like Santa's sack.

 

"Sorry about the wrapping. We had to get a little...creative."

Oliver apologized.

 

"And its previous owner did not mind parting with it one bit."

Shado added, ominously.

 

"It's from both of us."

Oliver interjected, beaming.

 

Eh, what the hell.

"Merry Christmas, Kid."

 

He'd been needing a new pair of boots anyways, even if they were recycled (stolen) from a dead soldier.

 

 

* * *

 

Despite his reluctance to have any part in the celebration, Slade had, reluctantly, gathered presents for the other two. He had them stashed under an empty crate and covered in leaves, but he still suspected that Shado knew exactly what they were both getting. 

 

Neither of their presents were wrapped when Slade handed them over. He wasn't going to go through any more effort for this than was absolutely required of him. 

 

He hadn't even spent that much time finding a good paralytic to dip the tips of Shado's new set of arrows in.

 

He also gave Oliver a new knife (fresh out of the back of its previous owner) for self defense, because he was tired of always having to watch the kid's back. That's why.

 

 

* * *

 

Oliver had learned to braid at a young age. Thea was very particular about who touched her hair. He'd gotten pretty good at it, actually, over the years. 

 

It took a few tries, but he was able to braid a few spare pieces of twine into a bracelet. He used natural dyes to make it green, to match Shado's hood. 

 

She had liked her present, slipping it on immediately and admiring the way it wouldn't catch in the bowstring when she pulled it back. Oliver made a mental note to make Thea one when he got back. 

 

Slade humphed and told her it suited her, sarcastically, but with a tone that suggested actually he meant it. 

 

 

* * *

Shado had found a rock with a hole in it just outside of their hideout. She carved a few symbols in it with a knife, promising protection and a long life. Then she had scrounged up a string and looped it through the hole and tied it, making a necklace. 

 

When she dropped it into Oliver's hand, he had put it around his neck, inquiring the meaning of the symbols. She promised to teach him how to read them later. 

 

 

* * *

 

The tree had stayed up until it died, not being mentioned but not being ignored either. None of them admitted their regret when they finally dragged it out. You couldn't afford to get attached to anything in their situation, much less a plant. Still, they had very purposely not used it for firewood even though it would have burned excellently.

 

 

* * *

 

Of course, none of the gifts had lasted forever. Shado used up all her new arrows, and Oliver's knife became reacquainted with the insides of yet another soldier. Slade's boots wore down. Oliver's necklace got lost during an impromptu swim (attempted drowning), and Shado's bracelet came unwound eventually. 

 

Still, it wasn't ever about the presents, was it? Or was that thought too cheesy?

  
  
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Five years later

 

Oliver Queen rolled over in his far too comfortable bed. Why had he ever thought he needed a bed that big and squishy? The comforter was enormous, too, but he was grateful for its warmth. 

The cold wind brushed his face, the first chill he had felt since returning to Starling.

 

He shifted in bed one more time, pulling the green comforter up to his chin.

 

"Merry Christmas, guys."

He mumbled to the air.

 


End file.
